The Blood Of Another
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: "The forte of the wheel is the gaps." I had done it, I had done as meant to... but blood would continue to stain my hands.  *Daniel-centric, rated T to be safe*


**Author's Note: **Another oneshot I came up with at school. I'm on a bit of a roll, as you can see, lol. I'm focusing here on events that we didn't witness in the game, like the torture sessions and stuff like it happens in this one. I'm also trying to flesh out Daniel's character; not that we haven't received enough proof of how he is throughout the game, but I want to take it further, and what better way than writing through his eyes? Anyway, enjoy everyone!^^

**Disclaimer: I do not own Amnesia: The Dark Descent; copyright goes to Frictional Games.**

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_One life for another, one life for another, one life for another…_

I was distraught, in denial, suffering from true shock. I stared at the blood on the wheel, the floor, the hammer… my hands. My eyes saw only crimson. My victim lay at the wheel's foot, her form mangled and limbs twisted in impossible ways. Her eyes were glazed, her body unmoving; her breathing was hoarse and shallow, each breath weaker than the previous one, but she was nevertheless still alive. I couldn't stand the sight of her: my knees failed me and I collapsed onto the cold floor, not taking my eyes away from my bloodied hands.

I had administrated the torture with the wheel, just how I had wished, following Alexander's guidance. My victim, an arsonist, had screamed in hysterical pain and horror throughout the torture, and I still think her cries haunt me. She had confessed her innocence at the top of her lungs, yelling out curses and words of disbelief. I would never forget her tear-streaked face, her pale skin covered in sweat and blood, her words and accusations against me. She was beautiful, too, with porcelain-like features and emerald eyes that turned scarlet after the torture. But I knew that beauty only belied her true nature: she was wicked like the rest.

At first, I had hesitated. At first, I had felt like a child facing the outside world for the first time in his life; I had even needed Alexander to tell me how to start. Due to my hesitation, I didn't feel all I was required to feel: Alexander had told me that part of the torture had to be felt within you; it had to make you jubilant, to instil pride inside of you. I began under Alexander's attentive watch, then he left me on my own. My victim's screams and crying begun to reverberate throughout the room when Alexander left: she couldn't believe I was partaking of his wicked acts, as she had described it. Eventually, all hesitation vanished. Then, with every scream she released, I felt more enticed to continue.

I had gone through various warding rituals before, all performed by me, so stomaching the consequences of my actions wouldn't be hard. But this time, being the first time I was using the wheel, I felt like a novice. Not only that, but a part of me was kicking and screaming inside my head, yelling at me to stop and let her be. Yet, as Alexander had said, these rituals had to be carried out in order to save me. He's comforted me some other times with the same statements: "You are not to blame. These people don't deserve to die for their wicked actions. They're monsters." I found no solace in them.

I looked at the woman. She had stopped breathing, and so did I seconds later. I couldn't believe what I had done. I gasped as my guts knotted up; they felt as if being squeezed and twisted by an invisible hand. It was the first time I had seen somebody die in front of me. As my mind entered another deep state of denial, I scrambled up to my feet, ran to her corpse and kneeled in front of it. I couldn't help myself: I lifted her upper body up, held it close to me. Once more, my hands and clothes were stained with the blood of another: they would speak volumes of my actions. The arsonist's corpse was dreadfully cold. I knew that, but it nonetheless came as a morbid surprise.

I don't know why, but I saw part of myself in her dead eyes. Suddenly, it dawned upon me: I could never have done this. I had been simply unable to do something so… so _horrible_ to somebody! I believed in justice, but not of this sort. I had always thought torturing someone like this was characteristic of vile and despicable bastards… And there I found myself holding the body of the woman I had tortured and killed. Alexander had already told me my first time would be disturbing, yet there was no choice but to soldier on and complete the rituals. He would save my life eventually, so he had promised; I had no say in the matter.

_She's a monster… she and __**everyone**__ who is being held in these cells! They wouldn't be here for any other reason: they're __**monsters**__!_

Those were the words that helped me gather my wits. As that happened, I lifted the arsonist's body up in my arms and took her out of the room. I headed toward the morgue, where I knew I would find Alexander.

Once I was in front of the door, I knocked twice with the tip of my shoe. Alexander opened the door a second later. I stepped inside without a word, feeling Alexander's eyes upon me, boring a hole into my skull. I could feel the rhetorical question hanging in the air, his satisfaction, but my lips wouldn't part so I could speak. I went into one of the adjacent rooms, dropped the body atop the pile of other corpses in there and returned to the main room. Alexander didn't stop looking at me.

"You reek of remorse, Daniel. Aren't you willing to accept what has to be done?" he asked me. I reeked of remorse? Perhaps that was the painful throbbing in my chest I had been mentally complaining about all along.

"Of course I can," I snapped back at him, looking at my right hand with a scowl. "If you've done this before, then I can suppose your first time felt like mine feels at the moment?"

Alexander chuckled. "As I said, the first time could be disturbing. Did you use the forte of the wheel like I… suggested?"

I knew there was a hidden meaning to that last word, I just did, but I didn't want him to see beyond the traces of remorse he had picked up. "I did, yes. Smashing the limbs so that the body folds and becomes mangled… I didn't forget."

"Good." I could notice a tinge of satisfaction in his voice. As I had expected. "Go and patch yourself up. I've noticed a few cuts and splinters on your hands, and you'll need them tomorrow again." But I didn't move, and Alexander pressed the matter further. "Go, I'll finish things here."

Eventually, I nodded. After leaving the morgue, I returned to my room. I dashed through the castle like a madman, unable to stand being around the dungeons any longer. Once in my quarters, I slammed the door behind me and slumped against it. My breathing was suddenly faster and shallower than usual, I was shaking like a leaf and denial was still upon me like a black cloud: it was anxiety, _panic_. What had transpired in the dungeons was already haunting me. If it all was supposed to be like that, I doubted I would last long. I buried my face in my bloodstained hands and sobbed.

I didn't know whether I was doing the right thing or not. I had taken so many lives, broken so many families…

How many…? How many before I had to surrender my own life?


End file.
